


Living Jar

by Carliro



Category: Randy Cunningham: 9th Grade Ninja
Genre: Dark, Forevver Alone, Gen, Immortality, Loneliness, Plants, enthropy, universe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:53:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carliro/pseuds/Carliro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Randy finds himself trapped... forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living Jar

Randy woke up upside down. His shoulders and head were supporting his body, on a steel stable. He was completely naked with his wrists tied to his ankles by ropes, so he was contorted in an uncomfortable way with his ass pointing to the sky.

He was in a very strange place. It looked like a futuristic white room with round paraphernalia, and a leather couch and a plasma tv. There was a massive glass window that spanned the horizon from east to west, so the Sun was always visible. It was very shiny and Randy winced his eyes, they were in utter pain because of the holy light, but he couldn't look away because he was stuck like he was. He tried to wiggle himself out of the table, but he discovered that his shoulders had metal hooks piercing his shoulder blades, so he couldn't move at all.

To make matters worse, he realised that his bowels were completely full of water, and big hard objects. He desperately looked around, and found his reflection in the steel table surface. He couldn't believe it: there were plants on his ass, a lovely set of reeds, most marvelous bamboo, beautiful purple tulips, gorgeous white roses - no thorns -, sunflowers with petals as bright as the stars, heliotropes like the dawn's fine garments, pearlescent orchids and black lotuses of most exuberant black petals.

He was a living jar, an organic vessel to those flowers, their roots etched into his colon walls and into his flesh, feeding off his energy and in turn giving pure vital chi back to him.

Who could have done such a thing? The Sorcerer could not be responsible because he could not create life, only DEATH. Neither could McFist, because he had access to technology and not that kind of power. And the least said about the Tengu the better.

He tried to summon his powers, but suddenly it was hit that all his memories of the ninja techniques had been erased. He knew about the Necronomicon and about being a nija, but everything it had teached him was gone. It was a tantalising frustration, a mocking tone of his woeful state, the distant promise of freedom in a captivity so cruel. If a key of a cell is stolen by the talons of an eagle, its plantitude is one's imperfect metanoia. He tried to wiggle himself free again, but the pain was too great for such a young teenager boy, so he whimpered, trying to think of a solution.

Hours passed, and the Sun set. Randy realised that he didn't need to eat anymore, because he felt the plants giving him their energy. A lot went to his prostate so he got really horny, but he could reach his penis to satiate his lusts. To make matters worse all the memories of his porn stash got erased, so he could not remember anything useful, only once again the concepts he could not explore. He tried to think of Theresa, but her delicious unratty body disappeared from his memories, once again only a simple thought in the hands of erotic destiny. Each time he tried to think of the carnal desires of the mind his longing increased as the memories vanished, and so his erection ached against the void. 

He was so desperate that he tried to feel the friction of the air particles around his penis, and with some great effort he thrusted the air. He gave in to his passions, his own desires the only thing left, violating the air with his penile desperation like the soft candor of the goddess Uke Mochi when she gave food to the moon god by vomiting her bowels. Randy mioaned, a whimperful sound like a nightjar strangled by the thrulls of madness on the blue moon of a July long gone, the winds on his phallus and the roots entretching deeper and deeper in his prostration, how inflated because of the xylem expansion proclavities. Finally, after several minutes, he managed to cum all over his own face, a triumphnt orgasm in the face of a crushingly fatalistic accumulation of the universe's most blazing stupidity. 

Only, there was no way he could clean himself, and it began to feel dirty. He tried to extend his tongue to lick, but he couldn't, and it began to dry and crust. Insects began flying into his face, and he could not swat them off, only stay still as they crawled over his skin. To his surprise, however, it was perfectly clean, allowing him some relief.

Weeks passed, and Randy kept struggling to get off. The plants gave him immense sexual energy, so he desperately came three or four times each day, then five, then eight times. There was a lot of tension and nowhere for it do go, except for his dick. He came a lot and tons of insects infested his body, crawling all over his belly and chest. Their spindly legs made him all the more horny, and he came more and more, feeding the ravenous invertebrate arthropods. A bug entered his left nostril and began to lay eggs there, which due to the intense vital energy from the anal plants became adult bugs almost instantly. Cockrocaches crawled on his balls and dick, making him orgasm more and more.

Randy felt completely filthy - even though he was technically clean -, and the sensation were driving him mad. He whimpered, revigorating his efforts to free himself, but he still couldn't move, he was still trapped. He shouted, but it did nothing still, only the loneliness and light of that dire meditation of hatred.

Weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and Randy was still trapped to the table, still trapped in a neverending routine of ejaculation and cleaning by insects. He still resisted, he still hoped every day that he would be rescued. He could not lose track of the time, each day was painfully engraved to him as the sun rose and fell on the horizon and he had nothing to do but count every second he was in that neverlasting stagnation of a torment.

Ten years passed, and he aged not a bit. The plants kept him alive, they would not let him die, he would forever be the slave to his torment. But Randy hoped still, yes, he would endure.

Hundreds of years passed, and his memories began to dim. Everything he would have fought for was likely long dead, everyone he ever loved and cared for. But still he wouldn't despair, he would endure as long as his orgasmic capacities did. He held on to his ninja teachings, to the hope of one day being free. And so he tried, and tried and tried, his shoulders bleeding and dislodging, but regenerating fast, keeping him trapped to that table.

A thousand years passed, and that hope began to fade. The memories of his old life became more and more fragmented, the routine more and more stagnant. He could no longer resist the cycle of ograsm and cleaning, he could barely imagine his long gone friends and family. Only the ninja code remained, only the faded promises of salvation kept him going. In the intense boredom, in the never ending routine, he began to give in to despair, until he was left with nothing but sobbing.

And so it continued, for thousands, then millions of years. Perhaps as a defense mechanism, or perhaps due to the sheer lack of cerebral stimulation, Randy's mind began to regress, until he was not sapient anymore, not more self-aware than the plants in his ass. Night and day, orgasm and cleaning, waking up and sleeping. His mind did not survive that monotony, he could no longer think. He saw the sun go red, he saw the skies become darker and darker as billions of years passed.

One day, however, something happened. He saw the sun suddenly white out, and light spread in all directions, burning his retinas, except that he didn't go blind because the plants regenerated. The insects died, however. In that blinding flash he remembered his old life, he remembered being a ninja amd fighting against evil and winning Theresa sultry arses. His efforts returned, and he tried with all his might to release himself. The pain was intense as he shattered his shoulder blades and dislodged his muscles and ribcage, but it was worth it, he was almost free! Yes Randy, escapes your prison of monochrome temporal intentions!

Then the sun went out. All the light burned the earth, but did not affect Randy's place. The light quickly faded, and darkness invaded what was the remnants of the solar system. In that suddenness Randy faltered, and that was enough for his body to regenerate and trap him again in the table.

"No!" shouted Randy, his hopes and dreamz shattered like a pyramid of misdeeds built on the deserts of a Yunnan long gone.

To make matters worse, the insects had all died, they were littering his body and some became trapped inside him when the flesh regenerated. Their death, and the surrounding pitch blackness, renewed his hope: maybe the plants would die too, now that they were deprived of sunlight!

Then they glowed in the dark, and Randy realised that the cycle would continue. But now, his only companions of ages were dead, dead like his long lost friends and family and enemies. He had many chances to love and respect his dearest, most dutiful insectile compariots in the ejaculatory times of need, and he wasted all of them, now his sins buried in their bodies that were buried inside of him.

And so, for the first time in 5 billion years, Randy cried.

Amen.


End file.
